


story

by TomBowline



Series: Tommy's OWOT2020 fills [4]
Category: The Terror (TV 2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Lighthouse Keepers, Canon Era, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, M/M, OWOT2020, One Week of Terror, Storytelling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-25
Updated: 2020-10-25
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:33:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27197203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TomBowline/pseuds/TomBowline
Summary: Perhaps he couldn’t change the pace of time or make money appear in their pockets, but if a story was all Harry was lacking, Henry would be happy to oblige.Fill for One Week of Terror 2020 day 4: "rattling bones" + "legend has it..."
Relationships: Henry Collins/Harry D. S. Goodsir
Series: Tommy's OWOT2020 fills [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1978441
Comments: 2
Kudos: 21
Collections: One Week of Terror 2020





	story

The wind was slipping softly over the island tonight. Harry was at the fireside reading, and Henry was on wash duty in the kitchen (it had gone past the time, now, when they could haul basins out onto the spare grass and watch the sun set over the water as they worked; this was the season for trudging bundled-up to the pump and taking care not to slosh icy water onto the kitchen tiles). It was only by virtue of the night’s stillness that when Harry sighed a fitful little breath, Henry heard the sound quite clearly. 

Henry knew that sigh. It was the one that always cropped up around the third month since Harry had gotten a new book, when he’d read his latest acquisition to exhaustion and had to endure the wait until their salary built up enough to order another. Perhaps he couldn’t change the pace of time or make money appear in their pockets, but if a story was all Harry was lacking, Henry would be happy to oblige. 

When he had done with the washing, Henry sat down heavy in the second threadbare armchair (long since moved to sit close by Harry’s at the hearth) and slid his foot in its clumsily knit wool sock across the floor to knock gently at Harry’s ankle. “Book’s all read through, then?”

Harry sighed again and slumped in his chair. “Oh, yes. Through and through again. Nothing I care much to reread either.”

Henry felt the start of an impish sort of smile playing about his face. “Well, then, if you’ve nothing better to be doing...Can I tempt ye with the legend of Rattlin’ Bones?”

Harry set his book aside and sat forward at once. “Oh, dear, would you please?”

He had dreamt, once, of telling tales such as these to children, a mess of stocky babes with unruly curls sat round a larger fire in a larger house. But now he had Harry, eyes gone soft and brow quirked in expectation, and that was enough, wasn’t it. More than he could rightly ask for. 

“It was a calm night at sea,” Henry began. He had only a vague idea of where he was going with his tall tale, but it always got there in the end. He had had practice, after all - learned from the best, from leathery old Tars spinning stories in the mess late into the night, talking absurdities between pulls on a battered pipe. He remembered with a dull pang the faces of his friends, his fellow seamen, as their heads were filled with welcome nonsense. 

“A calm night, yes - until a squall whipped up. Now, this squall claimed no sailor’s life—” He put up a placating hand, as if expecting riotous protest upon the implication that someone may have perished in the course of this little yarn. “It was over...in mere moments. But when the sea was at peace again, and the men got out on the deck to see what was about - they noticed something there.” He would pause, here, to let the tension build up - but he was aware of the memories that such a statement might bring back for this particular audience, so he hurried on. “A castaway, ragged and thin. Beard as long and fierce as Cape Horn, clothing hangin’ off of him.”

He set himself back in the chair’s cushions now, affecting a tone of casual conversation. “Have you ever heard, Dr Goodsir, of the saying - ‘so thin his bones would rattle when he moves’?” Harry smiled at this dramatic titling of himself by a man who knew him as intimately as Henry did. “Now, I’ve never seen such a thing myself, or heard it, I suppose - can’t say as to whether I believe such a thing could truly be. But they say when this man climbed to his feet on that deck, all those around him could hear a faint rattle.” He wiggled his fingers for emphasis - Harry huffed a gratifying little laugh, eyes twinkling in the firelight.

“And what do you think the man said, when he was brought below and warmed up? What do you think he wanted?”

The pause drew longer and longer until finally Harry caught on that he was meant to reply. “Well— food, I suppose. Rest. Perhaps a shave,” he added with a self-effacing smile.

“Mmm.” Henry chewed his tongue thoughtfully as he played at thinking this over. “And well you might think so, too. But this stranger’s only request was to play a game of dice.”

“A game of dice.” There was a note of disbelief in Harry’s voice, now, polite as anything but bold as brass to Henry’s ear.

“Oh, indeed! You may think it strange.” He spread his hands,  _ What can I say? _ “So did the crew of this vessel. But they were tired and spiritless, looking for a way to liven up the long night of sailing. So one of them - name of Billy Birch -” another twist of the mouth from Harry - “agreed to play him.  _ Haven’t had a game in ages, _ the old castaway kept saying.” He put on a rather ridiculous voice for this character, quavering and creaky. “ _ Does my old bones good. _

“And so they sat ‘round the mess table and started to play. Now— and this is important, I almost forgot.” He had done no such thing; in fact, he had just thought of it for the first time. “The fellow had his own set of dice. Pulled them right out of his pocket, threadbare and full of holes as it was. And beautiful they were too, carved from the finest ivory. But they had no paint on them, no stain for the dots. Only little notches in the sides, like they were scratched out by hand. Now, Billy Birch countenanced this straightaway, and thought it was strange for certain. But he was eager for a game now, and he did not like to seem rude - the man was a guest on his ship, after all. So they began to play.

“On they went, roll after roll. Nobody looking on could say who was winning, for it seemed they were evenly matched in luck. Small quantities of coin were changing hands about the table faster’n you could keep track. But some of the spectators noticed that underneath the sound of waves and creaking wood, there was something else.” He leaned forward, looking into Harry’s expectant face so his next line would land with full effect. “That rattlin’ they heard when the old man moved was growing louder with each throw of the dice.”

“I say!” Harry interjected softly and very gamely. His hands were folded in his lap, his figure sat forward as he waited to hear the rest. Henry obliged.

“Now finally, it seemed the tide would be turnin’. Three rolls together, Billy came out ahead. And the old man looked mighty displeased at this, but he wouldn’t go and forfeit on his game. They kept rolling, Billy kept winning. The men ‘round the table were thumpin’ and hollerin’ for their mate, and that unearthly rattlin’ kept growing louder and louder.” Henry increased the volume of his own voice, moving his hands to indicate this clamor. “And then - what do you know - but Billy won it all. Oh yes!” He raised one finger in the air. “And the sailors all cheered for him, throwing up such a great shout as shook the boards. Thumpin’ him on the back and embracing him. Now a landsman might think this were inhospitable of them, to rejoice so freely at a victory over such a meanly favored guest, but we who’ve been to sea—” He passed a hand between himself and Harry, who nodded. “We know strange visitors can come upon the waves, and we know enough to be feared of what might happen if we play them and lose.” He shook his head knowingly, in the manner of an old schoolmaster.

“So now they all waited on to see what would happen next. Perhaps this really was just an old castaway, and he would stay out the night until they could get him to the coast. Or perhaps he would disappear in a puff of smoke - like that!” Henry snapped his fingers, causing Harry to start. “But neither was the case.

“What did happen? Well, Billy Birch got his winnings. The old man got to his feet and produced a little white object from the palm of his hand. Handed it to Billy just as grudging as anything. Then he climbed the ladder to the top deck -  _ Goin’ to take the air, _ he said. Course, nobody paid him much attention - they were too busy looking at what Billy had got.

“It was a little cube of a bone, perfectly whole. Knucklebone, it looked to be. Polished as clean and white as could be, as clean and white as those dice the old man had used. And if the man’s grip on the ladder was impeded by the disuse of one finger, nobody took any heed.

“But at length they grew tired of this prize and began to return to their duties. And when the men at watch on the weather deck assumed their posts and saw no trace of the old castaway, they couldn’t say they were much surprised.

“So the night passed - and the years went on, and nobody on  _ that _ ship ever saw the old man again.” Henry sat forward onto his elbows, made his face grave and his eyes wide. “But legend has it that to this day, on a calm night after a squall, old Rattlin’ Bones may pay a visit...and ask for a game of dice.“

He let the quiet ring out then, long and comfortable, let the story sink in. The low whistle of the wind, the pop of the fire, the faint rhythm of Harry’s breath and his own flooded in to ground them back in reality. Harry was smiling at him. Henry smiled sheepishly back; it was nothing like the intellectual sort of books Harry collected, he was certain. Just an old sailing tale, a bit of nonsense. 

“That was wonderfully chilling,” Harry said, eyes twinkling. “Did you think that up?”

“Well—” Henry shrugged. “You’re not rightly meant to ask such things. Does away with the sense of...of it being something that really happened. I’ll just say it’s a skill you pick up when you’re long at sea, that sort of storytelling.”

Harry sighed wistfully. “Nobody ever told me a tale like that,” he said wonderingly. He reached out, stroked over Henry’s knee with his dear knobbly hand. “Thank you for that.”

“Of course,” Henry nodded, “anytime.”

The course of Harry’s hand was clearly telegraphed as it slipped from Henry’s knee up the broad softness of his shoulder, then over to the back of his neck. “About time for bed,” he said softly.

“Aye,” Henry agreed. Face quite close to Harry’s, now. The soft planes of his face growing fuzzy in the firelight. 

Harry’s hand stroked down over his cheek and he leaned in. His mouth was soft though his lips were chapped; his whiskers tickled Henry’s cheek. Yes, this was enough. More than.


End file.
